Her Dirty Secret
by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse
Summary: "Am I your dirty secret, Miss Granger?" Severus stepped out of the bathroom, slipping into place the last of his buttons on his frockcoat. He lifted a coal-black eyebrow. "Your guilty pleasure?" / SS/HG HEA...Always :)
1. Chapter 1

So…3pm, I'm thinking about Tim Roth and his use of the phrase 'a guilty pleasure', which he used about my city. And feeling…annoyed.

6.5 hours, and 6500 words later. (And why can I never write this amount on my original fics? Why?) I have this story. It's finished. I'll post it each morning. I think there are about 6 parts.

And does anyone think it's weird that in a parallel world, the makers of the films went with their first choice of Tim Roth as Severus Snape…? Severus without his voice? No…!

As ever, anything not JKR's is mine.

Oh, and this is a tad angsty…but I promise, there is a big fat HEA :)

* * *

"Am I your dirty secret, Miss Granger?" Severus stepped out of the bathroom, slipping into place the last of his buttons on his frockcoat. He lifted a coal-black eyebrow. "Your guilty pleasure?"

Hermione stared at him. She blinked. " _Miss Granger_?" He hadn't called her that. Ever. Not in private. Not when it was just the two of them. And certainly not after they'd spent a thoroughly delightful hot and sweaty Saturday afternoon in her bed. "Severus…?"

A long finger lightly stroked the stiff line of his collar and dipped to his cravat, straightening both. The bubbled, still-reddened scar edged above the snowy whiteness of his collar and a fist tightened around Hermione's heart as it always did. There were so many scars on him. So many. Outside and in.

He slid a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ from her grandmother's rather hideous cabinet. She frowned at it. The foul old thing was something she should load off to a charity shop, but guilt kept it with her. No, it was not something to be put on display in her sitting room with its odd angles and outdated design. It was better here. After all, even with Severus Snape as her lover, she didn't spend an inordinate amount of time in her bedroom. A smile twitched. When they _got_ to the bedroom. Today was a rare day. He did seem to loathe her bed…

Severus was flicking through the paper. He folded it and folded it over again, before he dropped it on the rumpled sheets.

Hermione stared at the picture. It was of her. She frowned. At that reception for senior Ministry officials the previous Thursday. She was only a lowly assistant in Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but her war record had bumped up her invitation. The Ministry did so love to show off its war heroes.

The photograph captured a moment. Her arm through Carlos', a saucer of expensive champagne in her free hand, as she laughed at something Arthur Weasley said. A smile lifted her mouth. All three of them had been caught up in one of Carlos' dragon tales. She looked up to Severus. "Another Ministry event. It was nothing special. Just the usual." Her smile grew. "Carlos had this story about…"

Two spots of colour touched the tops of his pale cheeks and his dark eyes shuttered. "I think it best we end these…assignations."

Hermione's heart cracked. She pressed a hand to her throat and fought to breathe. End…? "Why?" Her voice broke on the question. "Two…two years, Severus. Two. You…"

He'd been her first. Not that she'd been saving herself –and a twenty two year old virgin wasn't _that_ strange— but some part of her had _hungered_ for him. To have him. The aloof, mysterious Potions Master. To be the focus of _his_ desire. Solely his. And it _was_ bliss. Until now.

"I believe we have had our fill of each other, have we not?" He was the cold, fierce man she'd met at her time at Hogwarts. Not her lover. Not her Severus.

"I…" Another splinter cut through her heart and the words wouldn't come. _Had our fill_. No. No, she hadn't. She wouldn't have her fill of him for the next two centuries. Longer. She pressed her lips together. Then he'd had his fill of her?

The words he'd said pinged against her thoughts. A dirty secret? He was hardly her dirty secret. Was he pushing that back onto her? Was she _his_? Her thoughts twisted. Oh gods, he really didn't want her.

Pain lanced through her chest and her eyes burned. Closing her eyes, cold tears escaped to her cheeks.

"This can hardly come as a surprise, Miss Granger."

The title cut and a sob broke from her. "Don't call me that. Never call me that."

That damnable eyebrow rose again. "And why should I not? Why shouldn't I extend the outside world to this flat?" He looked around the small bedroom with a sneer of disgust. "To this particular room?"

"Severus…"

"In the beginning, I thought…" A hint of pain edged his dark eyes and the familiar furrow deepened between his eyes. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. "But I soon came to realise what I was to you."

"Severus, I never—"

He grabbed the paper and flung it again to her bed, jabbing a finger at it. "Not once, _Miss Granger_ , in your two precious years, not _once_ , have you stepped out on _my_ arm." He sneered at her as her mouth parted to argue. "Any other wizard was preferable to me. Any! Nothing could sully the immaculate reputation of the Gryffindor Princess, could it? Certainly not a hint of an assignation with a notorious dark wizard.

" _Carlos_ ," the name was drawn out with distaste, "has accompanied you eleven times. Do you fuck him too? Why do you think I never want to take you here in this room? In that bed? To lie in the shadow of another man is abhorrent."

He straightened. "I did today to remind myself of what I am. Simply your…fucktoy." His mouth twisted. "Enough. I am done." He gave her a short nod. "It is time I put my expectations…behind me."

And with a crack, he was gone.

* * *

Let me know what you think! :)

I hope to crank out chapter 11 for A Soul-Mate's Kiss tomorrow. Ugh, my plans for original fic work is falling away this weekend!


	2. Chapter 2

And the angst continues... Sorry. *hides*

* * *

Hermione crawled into work Monday morning. Her desk was piled with work, as usual. Thick files and hazardly stacked memos rife with everything from lost crups -and how did she _get_ those?- to the illegal breeding of unicorns and the alleged sightings of Manticores. Often it was just busy work. But she was thankful for it that day and her little cubby-hole of an office. A place she could hide and wallow.

She felt hungover…though not one drop of alcohol had passed her lips. Every part of her ached, her head pounding, her eyes raw. She broke down the moment he'd disapparated. Curling into a ball on the bed, the sheets fisted and pulled to her damp face and his scent…everywhere. On the sheets, the pillows, her skin, _in_ her.

What had she done? Because he was right. So completely right.

Severus Snape had been her delightfully dirty little secret.

How had he put up with that for _two years_? Two years of him doing everything she asked of him. Offering himself completely to her whims. And she –fucking _cow_ that she was— had given him nothing.

Hermione snatched at the tears that streamed onto her cheeks. And now he'd find a witch that _would_ meet his expectations. One who would use him for more than sex. No, no, wouldn't _use him_ at all. Would be proud to be seen with him, be on his arm. In the street. In a restaurant. On the front page of _The Prophet_.

Her gut twisted. Yes, there was that curl of cowardice. She sneered at herself. What would others think of the war-hero, Hermione Granger, being seen out and about with the notorious Bat of the Dungeons? How could she? Was she _fucking_ him? How could anyone—

Hermione pressed her hands to her face and fought back a strangled sob. Why was her reputation so important? What did it matter what the wizarding world thought? When had she become this…craven? She back into her comfortable chair, the one she thought she _deserved_... When her position in the world began to matter. Her job. Her influence…

Severus had made her happy. So fucking happy she thought her heart would burst. And she'd thrown it and him away to be seen with…trinkets. Pretty wizards. Vacuous, empty-headed men who saw her as just as much as a trophy as she saw them.

Carlos had been pressing for more from her. A wizard had needs, he'd said, and since they were _thought_ to be an item, they might as well find an added benefit… And she'd even thought about fucking him to keep him interested and at her side. Though how that would happen, when at the end of night out, she had to stand up wind from him because of the pervading, sulphurous stink. There were some secrets not shared about dragonologists…

No, she'd seen it as simply a business arrangement. Selfish, _selfish_ cow.

Severus didn't deserve her. He didn't.

"Hermione?" Daphne Greengrass knocked and opened the office door, a thick file pressed to her chest. "I have—" She stopped. "Are you all right?"

Hermione grabbed a tissue from a box in her drawer and wiped her face. She grabbed another and blew her nose. "No, no not really."

"Wizard trouble?"

She snorted. "How did you guess?"

"Carlos?" Daphne wrinkled her nose. "I never did like him. Far too pretty by half."

Hermione pressed yet another tissue to her suddenly leaking eyes. "I'm a shallow cow. Who'd ever have thought the bookworm, ink-stained, bushy-haired Hermione Granger would catch a gorgeous wizard?"

That had been another part of her motivation. Because it wasn't the way the world worked, was it? The plain girl never got the gorgeous man. And Carlos was so very beautiful. Tall, dark with the lean build of a natural athlete. And his accent only added to the package. But he'd never made her heart patter. Not once. Not the way Severus could with a mere lift of his eyebrow. Her throat tightened. Idiot. _Idiot_.

And the wizard wouldn't take her back. Another sob broke from her. _Her Severus._

"Hermione, go home." Daphne's voice was soft and lined with sympathy, but Hermione shook her head.

"It's worse there. He…" She drew in a long deep breath. "There are so many reminders there." She looked up and the warmth in the other witch's eyes tightened her throat. "He was the one, Daphne. And I don't know what I'm going to do."

Daphne gave her a small smile. "Hermione Granger giving up?"

She huffed out a breath and wiped away more tears. "He's given up on me and he has every right to do so." She straightened in her chair. "Work. Work till it bleeds out of my ears. That's what I need."

"You should talk to him."

Hermione shook her head. "Ending…" Her voice cracked and she pulled in a steadying breath. "Ending it was right. I was…" She winced and looked at the file Daphne held. "That's for me?"

Daphne flicked through the thick run of parchment. "Manticore sighting in the New Forest."

"Again? Someone has one stashed there, I'm certain."

The file slapped to the desk. Daphne grinned at her. "Then find them and bring them to justice!"

Hermione stared after the witch as the door shut to her small office. She let out a long sigh. She could hardly admit that she was heart-broken over Severus Snape. Though she'd wanted to. Ached to. He had his right to his privacy now…now that they were finished.

She opened the file to a blurred wizarding photograph of a forest and the caught form of one of the magical world's most deadly creatures.

Yes. Work. Work till her ears bled.

* * *

More tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

A tad more angst. Hermione has to get her Snapelings in a row, after all. :)

Thanks for all the faves, reviews and follows!

* * *

After a single, hard tap, the door to her office swung open.

Hermione looked up from her file, blinking. She flicked a finger to the lamp on her desk to increase the glow. It was little wonder her temples felt as though they were locked in a vice. She frowned. "Carlos?"

The wizard leant against the doorframe, his pretty mouth pursed. He was dressed in expensive robes. As always. A silver finery that offset his dark good looks. "Is it Sunday evening and I find you here? Not ready." He waved his hand at her. "Frazzled, as you would say. The reception begins in an hour, Hermione."

"Did you not get my owl?"

Carlos rolled his eyes. "That wild little bird with some insane note? 'I cannot attend any more functions with you'." He huffed a laugh. "I took it as the joke it is." His black eyes narrowed on her, almost as dark as… Her thoughts skittered away from _his_ name. Anyway, they were very dark. Her heart tightened in her chest and she focused on the wizard before her. He was frowning. "Are you trying to play me? I suggest a side benefit…and you attempt to acquire more?"

"I never wanted to sleep with you, Carlos." The admission was said before the words were clear in her mind. They were true. Utterly true. "And I meant what I said. I wish our…arrangement to end." It was almost an echo of the words... _he_ had said and her belly gave a painful swoop.

A deeper frown marred the perfect smoothness of his brow and his voice dropped low and was lined with a hint of anger. "You are dismissing _me_?"

Had no witch ever walked away from his perfection? Hermione wanted to laugh, but the ache was still heavy and sharp in her chest. She'd been without her...her wizard for eight whole days. _Eight_. And nothing brought a smile to her face. Her gaze flicked to the locked bottom drawer of her desk and her throat tightened. She should burn that bloody copy of _The Prophet_. She should…

And she had no time for a pretty wizard and his large ego. "I am not dismissing you, Carlos. I find I don't want to gad about at Ministry receptions with their brown-nosing and hollow pandering. I took all the attention far too seriously." She shook her head. She had. Desperate as a famous muggle-born to be _seen_ to be worthy. "No, I'm happy here. Being me."

"We have an agreement."

"It's not as if you can't pick up another witch at a moment's notice." She scrubbed at her face. Tiredness sat on her like a dull weight. She couldn't remember when she'd last slept. A week Friday. She closed her eyes. The night _before_. "There are other heroes of the war who would happily appear on your arm."

"None have the weight of Hermione Granger."

She frowned at him. Was he calling her fat…? No. No, he wasn't. Gods, she needed to sleep. "Please go, Carlos."

"I will give you this night. I expect you to accompany me next Friday at the Anniversary Ball at Hogwarts."

"No."

"No?"

"To explain clearly. No, I am not going with you. The reception that Thursday was our final one."

Carlos glared at her. "You think you can trade up from me?" He straightened and brushed his tanned fingers over the smoothness of his silk robes. "You want to make me jealous, I think. Push me into a relationship. That will not happen, Hermione. I may…fuck you." His gaze slid over her, hard and assessing. "But I could not think to involve myself at any deeper level with you."

Hermione pressed her hand to her heart with great show. "You wound me." And she was aware of the irony. That Carlos Diaz-Garcia was treating her as she had treated… She cut away thoughts of _his_ name. "Goodbye, Carlos."

With a swirl of his robes and a sour rush of Spanish, he slammed the door shut. The thud of his boots echoed down the long corridor.

Hermione sank back into her chair. She should've questioned why she'd had no reply to her short note. But she hadn't. Her mind had been otherwise occupied.

Her gaze cut to the locked drawer again. Sighing, she opened it and pulled free the much-creased newspaper. There, on the front page, _he_ stood, with a pretty little witch on his arm. He scowled out of the photograph. And she read the headline for the hundredth time.

 _Reclusive War-Hero Attends Charity Ball._

 _Reclusive_. Because of _her_. Her requests not to _distract her_ -she recoiled from the bitchy, selfish thought- as she mingled at those so-important functions. He should've been out, amongst his peers, being celebrated. She stared at him, her finger tracing his scowl, the hooked line of his ridiculous nose, the faint trace of his scars appearing above his starched collar. Following paths her mouth had once taken.

And the witch beside him. So pretty and red-haired and happy to be pressed up against his long, lean form. Angela Smythe. An old friend, the article said. A Potion Master who'd lived out the war in Italy. Recently divorced.

Hermione closed her eyes. Clever and available. And willing to be seen with him. No, not willing. She stared at the witch. At the fierce clutch of her fingers into his arm. How _possessive_ she was. It was Angela Smythe's _pleasure_ to be seen with him.

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth to smother a sob. Pain and betrayal raged thought her belly. Had he already…?

No, it wasn't her place to be jealous. He was free of her. Was moving on. Had moved on.

Her fingers traced his face, tears blurring the sweet line of his lips. She loved him. Utterly. Completely.

And she would never have him again.

* * *

Thanks to Orlando Switch for the muggle-born reminder! :)


	4. Chapter 4

And we're climbing out of the angst. This is only a six-shot.

* * *

Hermione tugged at the bodice of her gown. Minerva McGonagall insisted that all those with Orders of Merlin wore the bloody things. Either that was on a black silk ribbon, which hung over her bust line in the most unflattering way. Or as a brooch. And the brooch was weighty —no magic able to lighten the thick gold— and so it dragged at any gown she wore.

And she hadn't wanted to wear it again. Or not so obviously anyway. Hermione held back a wince. She had worn it a lot recently, and that had lessened -cheapened- its importance and value. The medal always seemed to shine out of her Prophet photographs, anyway, and she'd taken a little too much pride in it. Too many times she'd played on the muggle-born war heroine with an agenda to change the world. She groaned and twisted the medal, finding it warm and heavy. How had he put up with her for two weeks _,_ never mind _two years_? She was obnoxious.

Hermione closed her eyes, thankful to be set back in the shadows of the Great Hall, hidden at one of the less popular tables. All the chairs were empty -the food and speeches over with- and people milled about. Mixing and chatting. Only a few short weeks ago, she would've been in the thick of it. The thought of that now turned her stomach.

"There you are!"

Ginny smiled at her and handed her a goblet of punch. Hermione sniffed at it. It'd been liberally laced with at least three alcohols and some potion she couldn't name. She didn't drink it.

"No Carlos?"

"I finished our arrangement."

Her old friend hissed and sat in the chair next to Hermione. The festooned Great Hall was crowded and too noisy, thick with those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and a plethora of ministry hangers–on. Gods, she was sour. But then her belly was tight. She'd not seen him yet. And she would. Even though he was no longer a Hogwarts' professor, there was no way he'd not turn up.

Her throat closed. Last time, she'd made him come on his own, whilst she attended with Neville. She really was an absolute cow.

"Did he break up with you?"

Hermione blinked and looked at Ginny. "What?"

"Carlos the handsome dragonologist? Just to warn you, I saw him over there," she pointed through the crowds to the main doors, "with Pansy Parkinson of all people. I wonder what Draco will say about that? Wands at dawn, I'd imagine."

"I wasn't with him, Ginny." And Carlos knew of the continuing dislike that existed between the two witches. It was him thumbing his nose at her. She really didn't care. "It was only a social thing."

"You've got your wand in a knot over some wizard, I can see that." She leaned in and patted Hermione's free hand in a motherly fashion. "Tell Auntie Ginny all about it..."

Hermione snorted. She could just imagine telling her that she'd been a selfish bitch to…to the former Hogwarts Potion Master for the previous two years. That she adored the snarky wizard. That she thought she'd broken his heart. That his leaving had broken hers…

The pain of it rushed her. Her goblet clattered to the table and she pinched the bridge of her nose to deny yet more tears.

"Hermione…?" Ginny's hand squeezed around hers. "What is it? You really don't look well -girl, your hollow eyed- and you've lost weight." She twitched a smile. "When Mum sees you, she'll drag out the food that sticks to your ribs and practically hand-feed you. You know she will."

"I made a mess of everything, Gin." Hermione shook her head. "And it's not Carlos. Never him."

"You can fix it."

"No, no I…"

Hermione froze. There he was, with a beaming Angela Smythe on his arm. She drank him in. The candlelight shining in his hair. The way his robes were perfectly cut, a sharp black with carved, ebony buttons that caught the light. He looked tall and imposing, wizards and witches parting before him with awed respect.

His gaze flicked across hers, blank, uncaring and her heart cracked open. Whatever he'd felt for her was pushed away, pushed down. He'd brought his incredible self-disciple to bear on his feelings…and she'd become less than nothing to him.

He offered his hand to Arthur Weasley and she watched him talk easily, the witch at his side smiling, laughing and the Potions Master grinning down at her. _He'd_ experienced the very same thing for two years. Her laughing and grinning on the arm of some pretty wizard. How had he _borne_ it? Because…because he'd _loved_ her—

Hermione grabbed her goblet and knocked it back. Whatever the hell the potion was, she'd take it over the pain in her chest. With her drink gone, she launched herself to her feet, startling Ginny, and stalked away from her table.

Alone. She needed to be alone.

* * *

Her feet were moving.

Which was strange, as she'd been sitting on the front steps to the Entrance Hall, the surprisingly warm late spring night pleasant and dry. Though the winds were picking up from the lake. Her hair would be a nest. Not that she actually gave two figs…

The sounds of celebration, of music and wild laughter had washed over and through her down the hours. She'd sat and remembered those who had lost everything six years before. Giving them their due over her own pain. No one had come looking for her. Which was as much a relief as it was depressing.

But now she was heading back into the Great Hall and she wasn't sure why. Something tugged at her. Something she hadn't done. Something unfinished…

The heat of the hall smacked over her, the lingering rich scents of food and alcohol, of perfume and the hints of sweat from the dancers twirling around the cleared floor. Laughter rang out beside her and she flinched. Carlos stood in her centre of a gaggle of adoring witches. His gaze slid across hers. Proud and sneering. No doubt she looked a sight. The winds had gusted…and she'd not battened down her hair that night.

The tug of magic was on her again. And it was magic, she could feel it on the edge of her thoughts. A pull to make things _right_. The potion. Whatever was in the goblet she'd so foolishly necked at the sight of…Severus with his new witch.

 _Severus_. It was the first time she'd thought his name in almost a fortnight. And there was another yank at her conscience. The whisper of what she should do.

She moved through the crowds, offering tight, unfelt smiles to everyone who tried to talk to her, to drag her into this set of people or that. The raucous laughter cracked over her as a middle-aged wizard fell to his knees before Professor McGonagall and confessed that he'd always had a crush on her…

A laughing wizard nudged his neighbour as Hermione passed them. "Old Frobe must've just got his first taste. I thought the Minister vanished the lot hours ago."

The potion. No doubt it had wreaked havoc. And there would be an inquiry, especially if senior wind-bags in the Ministry had fallen foul of its power.

Gods, there was Severus. In the corner, a glass of smoking, amber firewhiskey in his hand. He stood alone, his witch nowhere in sight. Hermione glanced around her, catching a flash of rich, red hair on the dancefloor. Did Severus not dance?

The curl of familiar pain twisted in her belly. It was not something she had ever thought to ask. Straightening her shoulders, she approached him, aware of the surprised glances of more than one wizard and witch. She'd never approached the Potions Master in public before.

She wet her lips, her heart thudding. "Professor Snape."

Black eyes slid to her, cold and sharp. "Miss Granger."

She was so close, that if she put out her hand, she could stroke the smooth line of his jaw. For a moment, she closed her eyes. The push of magic kicked at her…but it was unneeded. She was here to make things right.

Hermione sank to her knees. His disapproving hiss cut through her.

"This is hardly necessary, Miss—"

"Severus, I was, _am_ horrible. I used you in the worst way. I thought of myself before you. Of how it would _look_." A sob broke from her. "And you, you wonderful—"

He yanked her to her feet, his hand burning against the bare skin of her arm. His gaze darted behind her. No doubt, she'd garnered as much attention as the others who'd made fools of themselves that night. If not more. She didn't care. A flashbulb went off.

"Get up you foolish witch."

"I'm sorry, Severus." Tears blurred her eyes and a tentative finger reached out to stroke a line over his parted lips. She bit back a cry as he snapped away from her touch. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I've always loved you. And I used you—"

"Severus…?"

Another flare of blinding light.

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth as Angela Smythe came to stand beside him. A frown lined the witch's smooth forehead. _Fuck_. What was she _doing_? She didn't care that she'd made a fool of herself. And proof of that was yet another flashbulb going off to her left. No, she'd made a fool of _him_.

And that she couldn't bear.

Hermione yanked herself free of his tight hold and burst through the crowd of silently staring witches and wizards. Out. She had to get away before she made an even bigger fool of herself and pushed Severus into greater mockery.

She hitched up her gown, transfigured her ridiculous heels and raced down the steps. Once beyond the limiting wards and with hardly a thought for splinching, she vanished.

* * *

Two chapters to go. :)


	5. Chapter 5

"What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing!"

Severus slapped the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ onto her kitchen table.

Hermione looked up blearily from her tea. It was cold. She unwrapped her hands and put the mug down. How long had she been sitting at her table? She glanced down at her crumpled gown. Oh, all night.

"It was the potion." That had been the excuse repeating over and over in her mind through the dark hours. The one she would offer if he ever spoke to her again.

And there he was in the bright whiteness of her open kitchen. She stared up at him, pained by the anger in his eyes and the hard line of his jaw. She stared down at her cold tea, finding it only water and milk. She'd forgotten to strain the leaves.

"Did you _plan_ to make a fool of me?" His palm smacked the table top. "The potion –something concocted by Nodawl Zonko to implicate George Weasley— lasted five minutes. Just five. A compulsion brew, forcing the drinker to admit a youthful embarrassment." His dark eyes narrowed. "I saw you drink down a goblet and bolt. It would've worn off before you reached the Entrance Hall. You're caught out, Miss Granger."

Hermione shrank in on herself against his fury. Oh gods, her declaration had made everything _worse_ … "I'm sorry." She pushed her fingers into her wild hair, fisting them tight. "Please apologise to Mrs Smythe for me." She finally looked to the paper and a groan escaped her.

 _Secret Lovers Revealed! Severus Snape spurns Hermione Granger!_

And beneath that explosive headline was the picture of her, broken, gaunt and tear-stained and Severus jerking back from her touch. Again. And again.

She lashed the paper away and stood, stumbling backwards over the skirts of her gown. She collapsed onto her couch. "Leave me be, Severus."

"What of your precious reputation now?"

His smooth voice twisted around the words and Hermione closed her eyes.

"Should I read the article? One everyone is waking up to? No one saw you imbibe the potion. They will believe your confession to be _real_." He sneered over the word and Hermione's heart gave a painful squeeze.

There was a rustle of paper as he retrieved the _Prophet_ from whatever corner it had landed in. "'We can report an explosive turn of events at last night's Anniversary Ball. Greater than the spiking of the drinks –which we are told, is under investigation— was the revelation of a clandestine affair.

"'Hermione Granger, last seen a fortnight ago accompanying Carlos Diaz-Garcia, the handsome Spanish dragonologist, and with whom, it is rumoured, she conducted a _torrid_ affair…'"

Hermione winced. His voice had dripped disdain.

"'…has been thrown over by none other that the former Death Eater, Severus Snape.'" He paused and Hermione breathed, waiting for him to continue. Tears ran and she let them. "'In a shocking move –but _not_ , witnesses insist, pushed by the spiked punch— Hermione Granger declared her love for the dark wizard. Her now former lover, Mr Diaz-Garcia, stood stunned in the crowd that surrounded the pair.

"'"That she would prefer him to me is beyond belief. It _must_ be the potion." The Spaniard paused then, and there was a dull hint of defeat in his beautiful eyes. "However, if her heart is truly lost to me, I will of course let her go. Ah, _mi querida_ —"'"

"Stop. Please." Hermione dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. "I never loved him. Ever. Pompous prick."

"How easily you dismiss us."

Hermione stared up at him. "Never you."

Severus laughed, something low and sour. "You dismissed me every day. I was never good enough. Oh my _dick_ was. But not the rest of me."

"Severus—"

He snatched his fingers through his hair. "I _heard_ him, Hermione." His voice was raw, pained. "That Saturday morning. Diagon Alley. Boasting to one of his cronies in the Leaky Cauldron of how he'd fucked you. Took you against the wall like a Knockturn Alley whore. Buggered you in your bed. How he'd had you at that fucking reception."

She stared at him. Her mouth fell open. Her voice had never felt so small. "I've never been with anyone but you." She pressed her fingers to her lips. "Never."

"Don't lie to me. I've seen the calculation in your eyes."

"Stupidly, I thought about it. Once." He growled and turned away from her and more tears fell. What did she have to lose with complete honesty? He'd already left her. "I thought how I appeared in public was important. Who I was with." She slashed the air with her hands. "Because I was an influential muggle-born, the great Hermione Granger. But no one at the Ministry gives two stuffs about me. Who I'm with. What I say. I was just a trophy."

Hermione let out a long breath. "I was a fool and it lost me you. " She shook her head. "I can never make up for what I put you through, Severus. How completely selfish I was. Never. I know we can't even be friends anymore. I…" She swallowed and wiped her face, "I wish you every happiness with someone worthy."

His voice was little more than a whisper. "That was supposed to be you."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "I'm a bitch of the first water. Don't waste your time on me, Severus Snape."

He scrubbed his hands over his face and his weariness hit her. Something he said came back. He knew the facts about the potion. Gods, he'd been up all night identifying it and clearing George Weasley.

"Go home to your bed, Severus. Get some sleep." She pushed herself to her feet, too aware that these were their final moments together. She closed the distance between them.

His dark eyes fixed on her and her heart thudded. She reached out her hand, ready for him to flinch away from her touch, but her fingers connected to his jaw. She stroked his pale skin, feeling the beginnings of bristles. It brought the first genuine smile to her face in weeks.

"I was an idiot to waste and lose your love."

With a sigh, her fingers curled away…but he caught her wrist. His dark eyes narrowed on her.

"Never with him? Not even a kiss?"

She shook her head. "He wanted to…" She shuddered. "No." A wry smile pulled at her mouth. "And even if there wasn't something distinctly sulphurous about him at the end of the night, just…no."

"And the others?"

She winced. There'd been a steady stream, hadn't there? How foul she'd been. "No." She shook her head, her eyes not able to meet his. "Besides the gentlemanly slobber across my knuckles." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus. I don't know what I was thinking. Why I wouldn't be fucking _honoured_ to stand with you. Anywhere. At any time."

"And everyone knows now that I've had you."

His words were a low rasp and she shrugged, a grunt her first answer. "I don't care. I'll post today's _Prophet_ up and down Diagon Alley! I shouldn't have cared before." She sighed. "I only care now that my attempt to…explain has made it possible for others to mock you. And I'm sorry for that too."

He released her wrist and she missed his callused touch. She stepped back from him, but he followed her until they stood only inches apart. She risked staring up at him, his face cut by shadow. Her hands balled into fists, nails biting into her palm. "Severus…?"

"Love has always made me its fool."

He cupped her jaw, his hand deliciously warm and Hermione's lips parted under the shock of his touch…before his mouth dipped to hers. The gentleness, the leashed heat, the smooth brush of his so-wanted lips drew a moan from her. Gods, he was kissing her. Kissing _her_.

She staggered back and waved her arms, panicked and fast. "No. No, you can't. Can't kiss me. I'm a horrible witch. I'm selfish. And a complete cow. I—"

"Hermione…"

"And you are the most selfless and wonderful man. You deserve the equivalent of, well, _you_. Not me. I'm _awful_."

A smile tugged at his mouth and amusement shone briefly in his dark eyes. "Do you promise to leave this flat with me? To sit in a café or restaurant with me?" His smile turned wry. "I am not the most social of wizards, but will you accompany me to whatever do, or reception, or ball if I have to suffer them?" His gaze sobered, and something pained flashed through its darkness. His voice was soft, "And if not, you will go with a _group_ of friends?"

Oh gods, did…did he wanted her back? Truly? But the short glimpse of his hurt stabbed at her and her mouth was running before she became aware of it. "I'd be a limpet. You'd have to peel me off you. I'd wear a flashing sign and a t-shirt." She shook her head. "No, too muggle. But whatever the wizarding equivalent is. I'd wear that."

Hermione ran her hands through her hair and caught them at the nape of her neck. Her pulse was thudding, her thoughts a riot. What was happening to her? Her mind was a melting mess. She had to be wrong. She'd hurt him…so badly. He couldn't take her back. He couldn't. "But…but that's not happening, is it? Because you have the _perfect_ Mrs Smythe now. Sorry. _Sorry_. I'm sure she's very nice. And lovely. And _not_ a cow—"

Severus pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

She clung to him and sobbed. "I love you. So much. Gods, Severus…" She dragged in a breath. "How can you forgive me?"

"Because I love you too."

And then he was kissing her and everything, _everything_ was right again. He drew back, his dark eyes warm and so…familiar. More tears escaped Hermione. Had he _always_ looked at her that way?

"I never thought it mattered. In the beginning." Severus wiped away the tears from her cheeks and a wry smile twisted his mouth as she sniffed. He offered her a handkerchief. "You had to make connections to build your career. And I am not a social wizard."

"Even that excuse isn't _right_. I should've—"

He pressed a finger to her lips and she gasped at the contact. Her eyes closed. So wanted. _Needed_.

"You were…mine." He drew in a breath and Hermione wanted to pull him into her arms, offer him every comfort. "But your socialising, your _requests_ ," he bit out that word and Hermione winced, "began to prick at that surety. You're a force of nature, witch. Why would you be with _me_? And then there was _Carlos_. I thought you were lost to me."

" _Never_. I took you for granted. That you would always be there." She shook her head. "As awful as this has been —and you can take satisfaction in the fact that it has been _awful_ without you, Severus— it made me see how much I need you. Love you."

He pulled her into his arms and she clung to him again. The solid strength and heat of his body. There with her. _For_ her. No, she'd _never_ take this for granted again.

"It was a shock," he murmured against her tangled hair. "To hear before everyone that you loved me. I did think it was you mocking me… But Gods, your _eyes_ , Hermione. You were…broken." He tightened his arms around her and she returned that fierce hold. "I got pulled into the potion investigation, when all that I wanted to do was storm here to confront you. To see if I could hope..." He kissed her forehead, and warmth bloomed in her chest under the curve of his smile. His opening up to her was more than she could ask. More than she deserved... "And now I can do more than that."

He eased back and brushed the wildness of hair from her face. "You're a state, little witch. Wash, brush your teeth, strip and get into bed." He took her hand and led her like a child to her to the bathroom. He frowned at his toothbrush held to the tiled wall in a golden glow of magic. "You made a shrine. From my toothbrush."

Hermione wasn't going to apologise. "It was the only thing of yours I had." It had been a stark realisation that Saturday when she'd finally crawled out of her bed. How little she'd allowed him into her life, whilst expecting so much from him.

He dropped another kiss to her forehead and her eyes closed as she basked in his affection. "Odd little witch."

" _Your_ odd little witch?" She held her breath, staring up at him, her heart in her throat. Were they together properly? She wanted everything now…but Severus held all the power.

"Angela is my friend. And old friend. There has never been anything more." His gaze was firm. Serious. "I have not slept with her."

Hermione closed her eyes and bit down on a pained whimper.

"Here." Severus handed her a warm, soapy flannel. "You've not been looking after yourself, Hermione."

She shook her head, and soon, she was washed and ready for bed. With a flick of his wand, Severus changed the sheets. She'd made a shrine of the bed too. She sighed as she slipped naked between cool, fresh cotton. He wanted her. He was back with her. And she'd tell strangers in the street that—

Hermione squeaked as his long, warm, _naked_ body pressed up behind her. He cocooned her in his arms, sliding a long thigh between hers. "I thought you'd go. You've never slept over."

"I find your bed perfectly acceptable. Why waste it?"

She dropped a kiss to his knuckles and snuggled back against his body. "I think, after a good rest, we should go out for lunch. Don't you?"

Her answer was a huff of air. Severus was already asleep.

* * *

Only one chapter to go!

Oh and I gave Mr Zonko a first name, as I couldn't find one for him...


	6. Chapter 6

Last chapter! Thanks for all the faves, follows and reviews!

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded on a late Saturday afternoon, the air thick with smoke, the lingering scents of cooked food and heavy with chatter. Still, all noise fell away as Hermione pushed through to a free table. There was one beneath a pair of soot-blackened lamps. Set before a white-washed arch, it was nice and central. In her wake, stalked the dark form of Severus Snape.

She smirked at a gaping witch and pointed a finger behind her. "Yes, I'm with him. Isn't it wonderful?"

The old witch blinked and stayed mute.

Severus pulled out a chair for her at the empty table and she beamed up at him before she sat. He shook his head. "People are going to think you're related to a clabbert."

She shrugged and circled her face with her finger. "This is me not caring."

He snorted and sat in the seat opposite. Tom hustled up with a menu and took their order for drinks. And the pub remained silent. Hermione cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Leaky Cauldron patrons. You can now go back to talking about us. It's fine. Yes, I am going out with Severus Snape. I'm not denying anything. Except about Carlos Diaz Garcia. I have not touched him. Wouldn't want to." She shuddered. "Do you know he smells like old dragon farts?"

Her words were met with shocked disbelief, whilst Severus' shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "You can relax," he murmured. His eyes were warm and dark. He looked so…beautiful. "I think people know we're a couple now, Hermione."

She grinned at him and took his hand, her heart tight in her chest. _A couple_. He'd called them a couple. She was quite giddy.

After her announcement, which seemed to have absolutely stunned the watching crowd, the surrounding witches and wizards finally shook off their amazement and turned their attention back to their food, each other, and their drinks.

Hermione let out a long breath and played her fingers across Severus' knuckles. She wanted to touch him. All the time.

* * *

They'd woke a few hours before in a tangle of hot limbs, his hand cupping her breast, his thigh still pressed between hers and his face buried in her hair. She luxuriated in the whole length of his body against hers. Happy. She was just so unbelievably fucking _happy_ to have him back with her.

She almost missed the first kiss, a light, feathery whisper against her ear…but then there was another. And another. And the sleep-gravelled, "You're truly here" broke a gasp from her.

She squeezed the hand that cupped her breast, before she turned in his arms. Sleep low-lidded his eyes and his hair was a tangle across his face. His cheeks had pinked. He looked…adorable. She stretched up to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. "I will be. For as long as you want me."

"Then…always." And his mouth sought hers in a slow tasting. A half-groan escaped him and his arms wrapped around her. Tight.

The press of skin and skin, hot and wanted, the firm length of his cock against her belly. And the ache. The ache to put her mouth on every part of him, to reclaim him. No, to claim him for the first time. Her lover. _Her_ wizard.

She glanced at the bedroom window, the shadows saying it was around noon. They were supposed to be having lunch…but, sod it. They'd have a _late_ lunch. It wasn't as if the Leaky Cauldron ever shut—

"Hermione…?

She smirked up at him, it fading at the quick uncertainty in his eyes. "Checking the time. I'm opting for a late lunch." She trailed a hand down the firm paleness of his chest, the light scrape of her nails giving him the little curl of pain she knew he loved. It pulled a hiss from him.

Gods, she _wanted_ him. "I'm going to kiss you. And lick and nibble you. Every sweet –and salty— inch. _Then_ I'm taking you out to lunch."

"No."

She blinked, the sudden pain in her chest sharp and quick. Did he not want her like that? Her own fear crashed through any sensible thought. He didn't want—

Severus kissed her, hot and fast, pulling her too him. For a long moment, she lost herself in his touch, in the wild clash of lips and tongues and the fierce thrum of need.

"I'm sorry." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I meant, no, I want to return the favour."

Hermione pecked a kiss against his nose, her pulse still hammering, the mix of need and fear hot in her flesh. Fuck, they had to be _so_ careful. "We're still…"

"Raw."

She closed her eyes at the pained word. But she pulled in a breath. She was not loosing him to her insecurities. And so she pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then a light brush to his lips. Her teeth grazed his full bottom lip. She planted a kiss on his chin. "I love you." She found the underside of his jaw and peppered that with kisses. "Every grumbling, sarcastic inch of you."

Severus huffed a laugh and rolled onto his back. He stretched and put his hands behind his head. "I believe…" He gave her that imperious eyebrow that made her blood hot and filled her with the ache to do _very_ naughty things to him. "That you have a promise to fulfil." He waved a long, beautiful hand down the length of his body. A twitch of his lips and the dark shine of his eyes –was that a wink?— broke a giggle from her. "Proceed."

And she did.

* * *

Hermione stared at her wizard, sitting so nonchalantly across from her at the round, rickety table. The taste of him was still fresh on her tongue…and the renewed ache for him growing. They had a future now. One where they had to be honest. "Why didn't we do this, Severus? Come out like this?" She pressed her lips together. She knew her own selfish reason. But she didn't know his. "Why did you never ask?"

"Because in the beginning, I didn't see it as important." He stared at their entwined fingers. "Later, it became _too_ important."

Hermione closed her eyes. He couldn't risk her rejection. And she would have turned him down… Gods, even though they were back together, there was so much she still had to put right—

"How dare you! I do not smell like…like old dragon farts!"

Hermione groaned, watching Carlos stride up to their table. He was pretty, all flowing hair, perfect features and expensive, tailored robes. Witches and wizards stared after him with hungry eyes…but, truly he did nothing for her. Perhaps being honest about Carlos had been a mistake. But she didn't regret it. He'd lied about sleeping with her. At least her declaration about _him_ wasn't false.

"You do, Carlos." She shrugged. "I suppose working with dragons has to have its downside. Besides the threat of being eaten."

He sneered down at Severus, who'd sat back in his chair. "And you think to taunt me with this…this _scarecrow_?"

Hermione was on her feet with her wand at his throat. She twisted the tip under Carlos' jaw, drawing him up onto his expensively-booted toes. He tottered there, shock clear on his face. "He's worth a _hundred_ of you."

"Hermione…"

Severus' voice was soft and sure and eased the wild panic racing through her. She wanted to prove to him that he was important to her. That she would chose him _every_ time. Maybe she was going a _little_ to far…?

"Sit."

She sat, her wand disappearing back into its sheath. She blushed. "Sorry."

Severus met the other wizard's eye. A glimmer of simmering rage shone in him. He had forgiven _her_ , but Severus had not forgiven —nor forgotten— Carlos' role. "Whatever right you think you have to Miss Granger is over. All rumours stop. Now. And if I see you within twenty feet of her again, I will deal with you. Are we understood, _Carlos_?"

"Who are you to—"

"Do you know who I am?"

Hermione stared at the Spanish wizard. A frown had formed on Carlos' perfect mouth. Oh, he didn't know. Did he not read the papers? Or at least the parts that _didn't_ feature him? It was true he'd only been in Britain a matter of months. But how could he not know who _Severus Snape_ was?

A smile curled Severus' lip at the corner and a pulse jumped in Hermione's belly. Damn it, threatening someone should not be sexy. "I recommend research before you act too…rashly."

A couple of Carlos' friends appeared then and dragged him away, whispering as they went. The Spaniard blinked suddenly, his eyes wide, as he looked from her and back to Severus.

"You're… You…?"

Severus gave the wizard a cold smile. "Believe what your friends are telling you." His smile darkened. "It's _all_ true."

Carlos paled and scrambled back, fighting the other men's hold to move faster, to the hell away from the dark wizard.

Severus looked back to her and shrugged. "I would've preferred to hex him, but that was quite…satisfying."

Hermione grinned at him, before thanking a nervous Tom, who slipped their plates in front of them. He whipped away just as quickly. She unwrapped her cutlery from its napkin. "Food, Flourish and Blots and more sex with you, I believe are my plans for the rest of the day."

"Hermione…"

She shook her head. "No. I lost you." She pressed her lips together to fight a pain that still held her, even as Severus sat _right there_. The agony of his being gone from her life wasn't going to fade for quite some time. "And it hurt." She willed a smile even as her eyes burned. "And I'm going to be honest with you. And open. And tell crups in the street that I love you."

His soft laughter warmed her heart. "You're such an odd little witch."

" _Your_ odd little witch?"

He stroked her cheek. And there was love in his eyes. "Always."

* * *

Done and done.

Now I have to focus on A Soul-Mate's kiss this weekend and ignore pesky, onyx-eyed polyjuice bunny...

And I need to write original words. Lots of them. *sigh*


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